


The Way Things Might Have Been

by pippen2112



Series: The Way Things Go [3]
Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom Evan Lorne, Dom Rodney McKay, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Humiliation, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Fantasy, Sub John Sheppard, Threesome - F/M/M, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 20:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy pretending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Things Might Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> This fic/series came about because my mind likes to do horrible things to John Sheppard, and because not enough bad things have happened to him yet.
> 
> This installment begins the truly bad thing. Please heed the warnings; it's only gonna get darker from here. If I missed anything, please let me know ASAP and I'll add the tags.

John's been in cuffs for seventy-two hours now, and already the Atlantis, doms are swarming. Like sharks drawn to bloody waters, they circle him, always at the periphery of his vision, always near enough to feel their eyes, always far enough to pass as a blur. He hates the slick feeling he gets in his gut whenever someone leers at him. Hates how the primordial part of his mind makes him ache to slide to his knees and bare his throat for inspection.

 

Luckily, his team has his back. Rodney bats back the more obvious contenders with a slew of well-aimed insults and founded threats--more than one expedition member has found themselves without hot water after breathing wrong in John's direction. When his hands start shaking in the mess hall after a pair of marines press too close to him, Teyla lays a calm hand across the nape of his neck and pulls the marines aside for a quiet conversation about demonstrating proper respect for their commanding officer. Even Ronon, who's not a dom, not collared, not a member of the US Military, glowers and intimidates the hell out of the pluckier expedition doms who linger too close to John, trying to lay down pheromones and rile him up.

 

True, it's an imperfect transition, and he's all too aware of how his friends adjust around him. Dr. Keller's a little more cautious with her examinations, her touches gentled and wary. Lorne keeps a very respectful three feet of space between them at all times and is careful to keep his tone mild. And Carter suddenly seems extra aware of keeping within John's line of sight whenever he enters a room and keeping out of the way of potential exits. John understands, really he does. They're being mindful of his recent loss and his boundaries. In fact, he appreciates the extra effort. Except for the fact that he's seen looks of ragged want and tampered lust cross all their faces at one point or another, and that makes all the care and concern feel like a façade, and doesn't that turn his already-twinging stomach to rot.

 

It's under this antsy, distrustful mindset that he has his first meeting Dr. Powell. It feels the same as every time he met with Heightmeyer only instead of Heightmeyer's sage neutrality that made everyone comfortable around her, he's met with Powell's dark gaze that seems to pick him apart in ten seconds flat.

 

"I'm sorry our first meeting isn't under better circumstances," she says calmly.

 

He swallows and looks down at his knees. "Yeah, me too."

 

"Tell me about your late dom."

 

John's mouth clamps shut, a big yellow caution warning flaring through his spine at the thought. For Christ's sake, it hasn't been a week since he gave up the collar. He's done his best to limit thoughts of Cam to his rare moments of privacy, but even then he can't manage more than a stray remembrance before he starts feeling sick and his vision goes sideways on him.

 

Dr. Powell seems to sense his unease. She adjusts her glasses and leans forward, speaking quietly, "Colonel Sheppard, I understand you must be going through a lot of turmoil these last few days. I know grief takes a variety of different forms and if left untreated, it can manifest in many malignant ways. I also know you're in a delicate position. Not many subs make it as far up the chain of command as you have, and given the tumultuous nature of your relationship with the Air Force, you're actions are under stricter scrutiny than many others. But let me be clear. I'm a civilian. Even though Colonel Carter is commander of Atlantis, I am not bound by the rules and regulations of the military. I respect doctor-patient confidentiality. My only aim is the care and well-being of my clients. Nothing leaves this room unless it threatens a) base security or b) the well-being of you or another person."

 

John's heard the spiel before. He heard it practically every time he met with Heightmeyer. But Dr. Powell's tone carries with it the force of her dynamic. John's muscles relax at having a dom speaking to him without restraint. So he talks. Nothing much, but he lays out the basics of him and Cam, the rough map of their relationship from the Academy onward. He skirts around the whole ex-wife debacle and tiptoes through the night Cam collared him, but it's more than he's said about Cam in years.

 

"You had a very full relationship," Dr. Powell says once John's run out of things to say. "You're very lucky."

 

Again, he looks down at his knees and fights the urge to snap that if he were really lucky, Cam wouldn't be rotting in a pine box in another galaxy.

 

"What do you miss most about him?"

 

"The way it felt when he held me," John says, hesitating before the words blurt out. "He made me feel safe."

 

Dr. Powell tilts her head curiously. "Do you not feel safe now?"

 

Again, John hesitates. "It was different with him," he says, his hand coming up to clasp at his now-absent collar. "There was certainty. I knew who I was. Where I belonged. What I had control over."

 

"Now it's more difficult?"

 

"Yeah," John says distantly. "You could say that."

 

By the time the hour's done, he feels emotionally shaken, sure, but also like some of the pieces have fit back together.

 

After a few weeks, John feels calmer overall. Yes, the doms remain an ever-present nuisance, but no one's made any actual demands and they've kept their distance. The sessions with Dr. Powell leave him a little rawer than he'd care to admit, but on an abstract level, he knows it's infinitely healthier to deal with this tangle of emotions. Loath as he is to admit it.

 

On his first day off in too many week, John crawls into consciousness. The corners of his vision swim like he'd had one too many the night before, and he feel like he went ten rounds with Ronon. Ten rounds with five Ronons, he amends when he starts to sit up and he aches from shoulder to thigh. He's not sure if it’s just nature calling or the dull soreness that makes his groin pulse, but within minutes, his cock is hard and insistent. So instead of popping out of bed, John slips off his shorts, settles into the still-warm mattress and lets his mind and hands wander.

 

It doesn't take much for idle thoughts to curl into something more concrete. He pictures himself spread on his back, cool sheets under his ass, his hands tied behind his head. As much as he hates the symbol, the cuffs on his wrist help draw him into his headspace. He spreads his legs wide, inviting his dom to enjoy him. In his mind, he imagines Cam's solid hands sliding up his shins and tickling behind his knees. He presses his lips to the fits of exposed flesh and John keens for something stronger. Cam obliges, pressing his knees up and out to the edges of his comfort.

 

 _"Show me where you want me,"_ says the Cam in his head. Only it's not Cam's slow drawl. It's deeper, firmer, laced with amusement. It's Ronon's voice.

 

John's breath hitches, and he cants his hips upward. Sure, Ronon may be a sub in real life, but in John's head, he's firm and attentive and surprisingly playful. Ronon circles his fingers higher up John's thighs, spreading his cheeks, and blowing a steam of cold air across his hole.

 

Unbidden, John's hand slips to his cock, leisurely stroking along with his fantasy.

 

Ronon's fingers tease around his hole, but every time John arches forward, he pins John with two firm hands on his hips. He whines until he feels a threatening pressure against his balls, thick and firm and unyielding.

 

_"You want something, slut?"_

 

Nope, that's not Ronon. It takes John out of the moment, but even in his head, Ronon doesn't do name calling. John stills his hand and cycles through potential replacements. For half a second, the dom in front of him is shorter, broader, and smells like crisp pine and sweet earth but John shakes those thoughts aside despite how his hips lurch forward in pure want. It feels wrong thinking of another military man, even though Cam's been gone for a few months now. Before John gets too distracted, he settles on Rodney. (John acknowledges it's weird to jerk off to thoughts of your best friend as opposed to your XO, but he's never claimed he's the most well-adjusted person he knows.)

 

So he imagines Rodney smirking down on him as he holds John still with a thigh pressed hard into his balls. _"Of course you do. You're making such a mess of yourself,"_ Rodney says, dipping his fingers into the trail of precome sliding down his dick. _"You can't help how much you want a cock inside you. You'd do anything for it."_

 

"Yes, please," he stutters, red-faced as the pressure builds in his groin.

 

Rodney snaps his fingers and suddenly Jennifer appears over his shoulder. She's naked from the waist down, and Rodney kisses the exposed skin at her hip. "Go make use of his mouth," Rodney says dismissively. _"He's talking too much."_

 

Before John can track how his brain jumped from A to Q, Jennifer's straddling his face and his only options are lick or suffocate. Unsurprisingly, his hindbrain chooses the first option. He plunges his tongue upward and into Jennifer without further ado. He sucks and nibbles, and when Jennifer lifts her hips to give him a few seconds of air, John chases after her and presses his lips to her clit. Even if it's not his preferred skillset, John likes to think Jennifer's cries are a sign that he's doing an acceptable job. If the tight press of her thighs against his ears weren't enough evidence that's he's doing well, the trail of slick fingers southward are reward enough.

 

A single digit presses into him. John sighs around the smooth penetration as his finger pushes in. Between his own groans and Jennifer's steadily increasing cries, he barely hears Rodney's disinterested _"The only way you get more than is if you make her come."_

 

And not being one to back down from a challenge, John pushes himself up as Jennifer rides his mouth, coming with a startled cry and smearing herself all over his face. He tenses as she climbs off of him and looks down between his spread legs, only to see Rodney's smirk broaden as he jerks his hand away from John's splayed hips and wipes his fingers on the sheets. John's eyes go wide. Rodney shrugs as Jennifer leads him away. _"Didn't say you would come if she did, John; just that you wouldn't if she didn't."_

 

The bathroom door slides closed behind them and in a few minutes, he hears Jennifer's high cries resume as Rodney no doubt fucks her into oblivion, leaving John feeling used and neglected. It'd be easier if the sticky sensation coating his face and cooling on his cock didn't make him shiver with want. It's thoughts like this that keep John forever quiet when his co-workers idly bring up their sex lives. He doesn't have it in him to admit how utterly fucked up he is that the thought of being riled up and hung out to dry gets him off.

 

John breathes deeply and slowly rolls his hand along his dick. He feels the need to spill quivering beneath the surface. It'd take nothing to topple over the edge, except that holding himself off makes it all the sweeter. So he swallows, and presses his hips down into the bed, running away from the insistent pleasure, knowing he can't escape it.

 

_"You can't help it can you. You just want too much. Too much attention. Too much pleasure. Do you even know where the line is?"_

 

John scoots up the bed, his hand twitching faster, another finger slipping into his hole. In his fantasy, he's been shuffled around. His dom slides in behind him and cuffs John's wrists behind his neck, keeping John pinned to a wall of warm muscle. He feels a blunt pressure against his ass and swallows down a plea for mercy. Definitely not the biggest cock he's taken (even in his imagination), but it's thick and he's tense enough for it to hurt.

 

His dom bites his ear and whispers into his skin. _"I don't think you do. You keep looking for it, but no one's bold enough to mess you up the way you deserve. No one's made you come all over yourself then fucked you through the aftershocks, have they John? No one's kept you high and hard while you choked on their cock. No one's taken you to that dark place inside yourself that you're scared to understand."_

 

John's hips stutter back onto his dom's dick. He throat works around wordless moans. His eyes squeeze shut.

 

_"Would you like me to take you into darkness, John?"_

 

"Fuck, Evan, please."

 

John pumps four fingers into his own ass, fast and brutal as he fucks his fist. The angle's all wrong, and he can't get the pressure right on his prostate, but he still comes all over himself with a breathless cry.

 

#

 

It's only well after that John realizes. After he's cleaned himself up, eaten a late breakfast with his team, and hobbled down to the pier with his golf clubs in tow, does he realize that his fingers had come away slick and sticky.

 

 _Funny_ , John thinks as his stomach curls in on itself, _I don't remember having lube._

**Author's Note:**

> Any question, comments, or suggestions are welcome! Comments make the writing happen faster.


End file.
